On the fourth day, the border mountains loomed high on the horizon, their sharp peaks piercing the heavy clouds above them. The lay of the land, the lonely crossroads they chanced upon, stirred something in her memory. A nightmare she had as a child: a horse lying in the middle of the road with its entrails spilled, an overturned carriage with dead men strewn around it. Blood soaking into the dust, a bloodstained female hand reaching for her. A sudden wave of terror gripped her, her vision darkened and she would have slid out of her saddle had Amron not caught her.
She came to on the ground, her head in his lap.
“Here, take a sip of water,” he said.
Her head must have still been muddled, otherwise she wouldn’t have said, “I thought I saw something on the road.” She sat up and swallowed the tepid water. “A dead horse. Dead men.”
Amron studied the empty landscape, the lonely fig tree beside which their escort waited. “Is this where—” he started and paused, clearing his throat. “Have you ever seen the border forts?”
She shook her head. It was uncanny, the thought that he knew this land better than her, that he’d spent six months here with her brother.
Was the carnage she’d seen connected with her brother? But no, he’d been wounded closer to Syr, and she had no idea what the attack had been like.
“Do you ever think of Rovin?” she asked.
“Out here?” He looked over the dry red plains to the stony foot of the mountains and up towards the snow-topped peaks. “All the time.”
She could almost see Rovin then, the black-haired youth on his swift horse, the warm rays of the setting sun burning red on the bronze and steel of his armor.
“I miss him,” she said, and it was a strange statement, because she didn’t really miss the reckless, fiery boy fascinated by the stories of blood and steel, eager to throw himself in the path of the Seragian arrows. She missed the man he might have become, the man who had a spark of cleverness and a morsel of love inside him that would have made him a good lord one day, and a good brother to her. She missed the future she imagined he would have given her.
Amron helped her get back on her horse and motioned at their retinue to keep moving. “I’m sorry he died,” he said. Then, as if reading her thoughts, he added, “And I’m sorry his death left you with such a heavy burden to carry.”
A sharp blade of grief slashed her from the inside just when she thought she was safe. She squinted into the sunset, again wishing that Ferisa was here with her. She understood her rage and sorrow, knew how to fight them away with rough, insatiablefire. Melia had no use for kindness. This scathing sympathy, this arrogance of her soft-spoken husband, made her furious.
“I don’t need your pity,” she snarled and spurred her horse.
She spent the afternoon angry, though she wasn’t sure who she was angry with. Her father, for his schemes; her brother, for dying; Amron, for being polite? Herself, for failing to control her emotions?
As they approached the mountains, the air turned crisp and the sharp wind brought the scent of snow from the peaks. The six border forts lay like a long necklace along the mountains, guarding the passes and the roads that led from them. The stories Melia heard as a child had turned them into legendary places in her mind. She expected huge castles with massive walls and tall towers, but instead the first one she saw was an ancient rectangular fortress, crumbling under the relentless attacks of ice and wind, garrisoned by the tired men whose uniforms were so worn out she couldn’t tell their original color.
They all seemed to remember Amron, though. They opened their gate with welcoming cheer, and their captain hugged Amron like an old friend.
She dismounted in the small courtyard. The deep shade of the late afternoon was so cold she shivered. She thought she knew what spare meant, but she’d never seen such austerity in her life. A wooden shed that could hardly be called a stable. Bare, freezing corridors poorly lit by smoking rushlights. One large room with a massive fireplace and straw on the floor that was used by everybody for eating and sleeping. A few women crossed her path and scurried away like mice when they saw the prince and his retinue. Maids, wives, bed-warmers—who knew?—none of them deemed appropriate to be introduced to her.
The dinner was old, chewy mutton, stale rye bread, and sour wine. Melia sat through it with downcast eyes, her hands folded in her lap. She could feel the men gazing at her; she could readtheir thoughts without lifting her head. On her right, Amron talked with the captain about the peace treaty, the size of the garrison, and the idea that the mountain passes will be open to everybody one day, and she pricked up her ears, knowing that her father would have wanted her to listen.
“How soon?” the captain asked.
“This autumn, probably,” Amron said. “Most of it is already negotiated and drawn up. We’re waiting for the emperor to sign.”
Overwhelmed by the whole day of riding and the dull pain in her muscles and joints, Melia had to force herself to focus, staring at the congealed fat on her chipped plate.
“The border tribes won’t know that and won’t care about it,” the captain said. “We’ll still have to be here to stop them.”
More fighting, more blood. The captain knew nothing ever changed.
“The Empire tolerates the tribes for now, even supports them, because it suits them to have endless skirmishes on our border,” Amron said. “But after the treaty, they’ll stop sending help. And once the caravans start crossing the border again, do you think the Empire will tolerate the passes to be unsafe?”
The captain paused before he answered, laying down his knife on the table. “No. They’ll protect their own.” He dragged his words. “The merchants will pay for armed escort, and the imperial army will patrol the imperial roads.”
“To protect trade, yes.”
Melia pushed her chair away from the table, tired of listening to men, tired of their endless talks of weapons, armies, conflicts. “Excuse me,” she said.
Amron turned to her. “You didn’t touch your food. Are you unwell?”
“No, I just need some fresh air.” She rose and all the men jumped to their feet.
